


A Court of Witchcraft and Wizardry

by herxndale



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ACoTaR Hogwarts AU, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herxndale/pseuds/herxndale
Summary: The ACOTAR Hogwarts AU that nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic was totally unplanned for, but I randomly got a sudden burst of inspiration to write it, so here we are. I am aware that the title is stupid, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything else. I took some liberties with how to sort the characters, so no, they are not all in the same houses SJ Maas put them in. This is my first ACOTAR fic and my first AU fic! Exciting stuff! Please feel free to comment/leave constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Summer had officially come to an end. It was time to return to school.

The Hogwarts Express sat idly at Platform 9¾, a steady stream of witches and wizards walking out of the brick barrier to join the raucous swarm of students dawdling beside the train. With ten minutes before departure, the Archeron sisters entered the fray. From across the way, a tousle-haired boy with violet eyes grinned and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on.

Feyre, the youngest sister, abandoned her luggage and began elbowing her way through the crowd, launching herself into the arms of the grinning boy. “Rhys,” she breathed into the crook of his neck.

“Feyre darling,” he returned, pressing a kiss to her temple, “I missed you this summer.”

Pulling away, eyebrows pinched with concern, Feyre began, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t visit. My father--”

Rhys’s gaze fell to where his finger absently twirled a stray piece of her golden-brown hair. “Don’t apologize, Feyre,” he said softly, “You have nothing to apologize for. Not ever, not to me.”

There was a long pause. Then Feyre sighed, and reached up to kiss him gently. “I love you,” she murmured against his mouth. She felt his lips stretch into a smile.

“Feyre!”

The couple broke away, Rhys’s deep laugh vibrating through his chest as Feyre rolled her eyes. Behind them, the eldest Archeron sister watched with a scowl on her face. Above the clamor, Nesta shouted, “Get your hands off my sister, Rhysand!”

Sliding his hand down Feyre’s arm and lacing their fingers together, Rhys said, “It’s good to see some things never change.”

Feyre snorted. “Tell me about it.”

It was amazing, really, how Nesta managed to peer down her nose at Rhys when her head barely met his shoulder. Perhaps she had been taking lessons from Amren, who was technically the shortest of the group, though her personality made up for any lack in height. Regardless, Rhys felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him as Nesta turned her icy stare to him.

“So,” she sniffed, “You’re still here.”

“That I am,” Rhys said jovially, gesturing toward the train. “Shall we board?”

“Please,” Feyre muttered, quickly ascending the steps to escape the tension.

Elain, the middle sister who had been silent until this point, glanced toward Nesta. “Will you sit with us?”

Guilt flashed across Nesta’s features, the emotion gone before it could fully form. “I’m afraid not. As Head Girl, I’m required to go to the Prefects’ carriage,” she said softly.

“That’s a shame,” Rhys drawled. He would have looked like the epitome of boredom had his eyes not glittered with mischief. “I know Cassian is eager to see you again after so many months apart.”

Nesta did not deign to acknowledge Rhys’s comment. To Elain, she said, “I’ll see you in the Great Hall.” She then spun crisply on her heel and stalked onto the train.

Rhys sketched a small bow as a the train’s whistle sounded. “After you,” he said politely to the remaining sister.

With a grateful smile, Elain gathered her pleated skirt and climbed aboard.

***

Feyre was already deep in conversation with Mor by the time Rhys and Elain arrived, and Cassian’s thundering laughter spilled into the corridor at something Amren had said. A smirk played at Amren’s blood red lips, and she whispered something to Azriel, who sat half-immersed in shadows beside her. Azriel snorted, his gaze flicking to the newcomers.

Rhys plopped himself down beside Feyre, snaking an arm around her shoulders. Feyre leaned into his touch, but didn’t break her discussion with Mor. This left Elain standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of where to sit, until Azriel slid over and provided room for her. She offered him a timid half-smile, and delicately took her place.

It was only after everyone had settled that Cassian frowned. To no one in particular, he asked, “Where’s Nesta?”

“The Prefects’ carriage,” Rhys answered, “Apparently she’s Head Girl.”

Cassian’s brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course she is,” Amren scoffed. “She’s the smartest girl at Hogwarts.”

With a lazy grin, Cassian taunted, “Even smarter than you, All-Knowing One?”

“No,” Amren replied immediately, silver eyes glinting, “But I’m too humble to be Head Girl.”

“Clearly,” Cassian quipped.

“Well, she’s certainly smarter than you, Cass,” Azriel interjected.

Cassian relaxed into the back of the seat, clasping his hands behind his head and resting his right ankle on the opposing knee. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said, unabashed. “But at least I haven’t got a stick up my ass.”

“You must be so jealous of this metaphorical stick,” Rhys observed, struggling to keep a straight face. Elain’s cheeks flushed a rich scarlet color and Azriel coughed. Even Mor and Feyre’s chatter came to a stop.

“ _Rhysand_ ,” Mor scolded, her voice taking on a motherly tone.

Cassian’s neck burned red with embarrassment, but he schooled his features into a look of nonchalance. He opened his mouth to shoot back something exceptionally vulgar. Before he could get the first word out, however, the trolley lady arrived.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” She trilled.

There was a whirlwind of exchanging candy for coins, and only when everyone was munching on Pumpkin Pasties did the topic of Quidditch arise, as it always did. It was impossible to avoid talking about the sport when two of the Team Captains were in the same room.

“All I’m saying,” Cassian said around a bite of Liquorice Wand, “Is that Gryffindor is going to kick your ass this year. 

Azriel shrugged, popping one of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans into his mouth. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, Cassian,” he advised, “I’ve got some new tactics up my sleeve.” 

“Tactic only gets you so far when you have a shit team,” Cassian pointed out. “I’ve got Viv as seeker and Varian as keeper. My team is solid. Plus you’ve gotta get through _me._ ”

Shaking his head, Azriel argued, “You can’t just take your players and throw them out on the field. It doesn’t matter how good they are if there’s no organized plan.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “I have a plan. _And_ good players. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Is this brute disturbing you guys? I’m allowed to assign detention now.” Nesta’s distinct, cold voice turned the air chilly. Cassian’s head snapped to her, his eyes instinctively running over her body like he was taking inventory, like he was making sure she wasn’t somehow hurt. He sat up straighter, fixing his slouched posture, which made his already massive body appear even larger.

“Hello, Nesta,” he said, his warm hazel gaze catching her frigid blue-gray one.

“You,” she said as a greeting. Silence fell over the compartment as Nesta stared at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Everyone waited with baited breath as if one of the two could explode at any second. But instead of making any scathing, sardonic comments, Nesta simply said, “We’ll be arriving soon. I suggest you change into your robes.” 

Nesta finally looked away from Cassian, letting her focus slide over Elain and Azriel suspiciously before whirling around, cloaks billowing dramatically, Head Girl badge gleaming.

***

Entering the Great Hall was like returning home. There was a simultaneous sigh among the student body as the doors creaked open, the thousands of floating candles against a velvet sky coming into view. Feyre clutched Rhysand’s arm as they made their way to the Slytherin table, Mor hanging behind to exchange low words with Viviane’s sister.

Elain, now flanked by her friends Nuala and Cerridwen, broke off from the rest of the group and headed for the Hufflepuff table. Lucien, who was unhappily sat beside Tamlin at the Gryffindor table, attempted to catch Elain’s eye, but his efforts were of no avail.

At the Ravenclaw table Nesta and Amren were either gossiping or plotting something dreadful, and Azriel appeared extremely uncomfortable to be beside them. Cassian passed Nesta and leaned down to whisper something in her ear, at which point Nesta whipped around and tried to slap him, but Cassian darted away with a roaring laugh.

Thus another school year began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind comments and feedback! I hope this chapter lives up to the previous one. I am very sorry to say that I am currently on vacation and will therefore not be updating for about another week or so. (It will probably be next Friday or Saturday that the next chapter is posted.) Again, please feel free to comment/leave constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Cassian woke before the sun. He sluggishly rolled out of bed, dragging himself down to the Quidditch pitch in the early morning light. He woke himself up by flying laps around the field, looping and swerving and practicing all the maneuvers he’d learned over the summer. By the time the fog had lifted and breakfast had been served, a gaggle of groggy Gryffindors with broomsticks in hand had joined him for tryouts.

In the Great Hall, Rhys and Feyre languidly filled their plates with toast and eggs. Mor, despite school policy, was still in pajamas. With a yawn, Mor said, “So what’s the plan for today, Rhys?”

Rhys hummed pensively. “I’m not sure. Maybe Az can sneak us into the Shrieking Shack. Any opinions, Feyre darling?”

“We should all go down to the lake for lunch. We can practice nonverbal spells,” Feyre suggested.

“Or maybe,” Rhys purred, nipping at Feyre’s ear, “We could stay behind and practice something else, just the two of us.”

Mor rolled her eyes and poured a glass of orange juice. “Seriously, Rhys, save it for the bedroom. I don’t want to hear about your sex life, especially not at eight in the morning.”

“My apologies, cousin,” Rhys said with a grin that suggested otherwise. Arm wrapped tight around Feyre’s waist, he continued, “Although, speaking of romance…has anyone caught the Morrigan’s eye, recently? Any hot guys?” He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly at the last part, taking an amused sip of coffee.

Mor and Feyre exchanged an uneasy glance. There were still some things that had yet to be revealed among their Inner Circle, despite how often Feyre assured her friend no judgements would be made. But Rhys, oblivious to whatever secrets were being kept, did not pick up on the glance shared between the two women. He looked at Mor expectantly.

Pushing a long breath between her teeth and forcing a strained smile, Mor said, “Not yet.”

There was a jarring clatter as Amren slammed her silver goblet on the table, red liquid splashing out over the rim as she jammed herself into the sliver of space beside Mor. “Gods, Amren,” Mor said sourly, “Don’t bother asking before you sit.”

“I never do,” Amren quipped.

Mor scowled, using her napkin to soak up some of the spilled drink. Peering at the stained cloth with mild disgust, she asked, “What the hell even is this stuff?” If she didn’t know better, she’d say it looked like blood.

Amren gave a feline grin, sharp as knives. “Juice,” she answered vaguely.

“Ever the drama queen,” Rhys said wryly.

“Worried I’ll steal your title?” Amren taunted. She patted his hand with false comfort. “It’s okay, Rhysand, everyone knows the queen has more power than the king anyway.”

Rhys snorted, but it was Feyre who replied, “And don’t let him forget it.” The three girls clinked their goblets together in a toast and burst into laughter.

***

Nesta was waiting by the entrance of the locker rooms when Cassian walked off the pitch, his new team lagging behind. “Nesta,” he said when he saw her, surprise coloring his voice. He leaned his broomstick against the wall and combed his sweaty hair back, tying it in a sloppy bun.

“You,” she acknowledged, sounding tired.

Cassian seemed to notice that the usual venom in her tone was lacking. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “What’s wrong, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped on instinct, her spine straightening. Any hint of previous vulnerability had vanished, leaving only ice in its wake.

“Sorry,” Cassian said with a grin, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Old habits.”

Nesta pursed her lips, but decided against arguing any further. “Elain told me that you didn’t eat breakfast so -- here.” Her words were rushed, as if nervous, though her face revealed no emotion. In her hand, held out as far from her as possible, was a sandwich wrapped neatly in foil. Cassian tried to catch Nesta’s gaze, but she refused to meet it, opting to stare intently at a spot just above his shoulder.

Taking the sandwich gingerly, Cassian let his fingers hesitate on hers. He watched her delicate throat as she swallowed, her eyes now drawn down to where his hand dwarfed hers, the rough callouses of his palms snagging against her own smooth skin.

Then, quick as lightning, Nesta yanked away sharply. “Okay,” she announced, straightening her already pristine robes, “That was all. Goodbye, Cassian.” She spun around to leave.

“Wait!” Cassian called out after her, taking a few stumbling steps forward as if to follow.

Nesta glanced over her shoulder, a single eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“I --” There was a pause as a jumble of words got stuck in Cassian’s throat. He finally settled on asking, “Where are you going?”

“The library,” Nesta answered. “Morrigan and the others will be expecting you at the lake for lunch.” And with that, she disappeared back inside the castle.

Cassian let out a long sigh. He wondered if he would ever get to see Nesta Archeron as she truly was, without all her armor and defenses. He couldn’t explain why, but he desperately wanted her to trust him -- gods knew he already trusted her with his life.

***

“That’s not fair!” Mor bellowed, face flushed with embarrassment. She was still recovering from Amren’s silent _cantis_ jinx, the thunderous laughter of her friends echoing in her ears.

Amren smirked. “You really are wonderful singer.”

Mor growled, arcing her wand above her head in a counterjinx. A quick shout of “ _Protego_!” came from Rhys before any damage could be done, leaving the two females to glare at each other from their respective side of the invisible shield.

“Well, well,” a silky voice slithered over the group and a blonde with calculating turquoise eyes emerged from behind a neighboring grove of trees. Everyone instinctively tensed, and Rhys subtly moved to stand in front of Feyre. “Having issues within the Dream Team, are we?”

Bristling, Feyre pushed past her boyfriend. Now mere inches away from the other girl, she threatened, “Get lost, Ianthe, before I hex your toes off.”

Ianthe wasn’t fazed. She shrugged. “I’m not scared of you, little mudblood.”

“Maybe you should be,” Feyre snarled, wand sliding out of her cloak sleeve and into her palm. Her fingers gripped the wand handle so hard her knuckles were turning white.

“Feyre darling,” Rhys began with an air of warning.

Pursing her lips, Ianthe peered over Feyre’s shoulder. With a sigh, she bemoaned, “Oh, how disappointing. I thought for sure my dearest Lucien would be hanging around you lot.” She grinned wickedly. “Lucien and I have recently become quite…close.”

With a ferocious battlecry, Feyre abandoned her wand and launched herself at Ianthe, opting to tackle her to the ground instead of using magic. Feyre’s knees rested on either side of Ianthe’s hips, fingers seeking out the blonde’s throat. Ianthe choked out a laugh, provoking Feyre’s grip to tighten.

Azriel and Rhys dove at Feyre, tugging her away by the back of her cloak. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” Feyre spat, absolutely venomous, “Don’t you fucking _dare_ talk about Lucien _ever_ you filthy --”

“Feyre,” Rhys murmured, his thumb ghosting across her cheekbone, “She isn’t worth it.”

Still laying on the ground, Ianthe rasped, “Go on, mudblood. Run away like the coward you are.”

It took all of Az and Rhys’s strength to hold Feyre at bay, though neither of them would have been particularly heartbroken if she had gotten free and hurled herself into another attack.

In the end, it was Elain who stooped, grasping Ianthe’s shirtfront and forcing her to her feet. “Leave,” she commanded, so quiet and menacing that even Ianthe had the good sense to look afraid. Elain shoved the conniving bitch in the opposite direction, sending Ianthe stumbling off.

“Conniving bitch,” Mor declared.

“I hope she rots in Hell,” Amren agreed.

Feyre was still trembling with rage when Azriel released her. “You okay?” He asked.

She shook her head, feeling sick to her stomch. “No. What Ianthe does -- it’s disgusting. It’s a violation and someone needs to stop her.”

Rhys gently wrapped her in a warm embrace, stroking her hair comfortingly. “We’ll talk to one of the professors. The headmaster, perhaps.”

“I’ve already tried,” Feyre sighed, “And nobody believes me.”

“We could always cut her hands off,” Amren suggested.

Unamused, Rhys instantly responded, “Absolutely not.”

Amren shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

“And it’s not half bad,” Feyre mused, tilting her head in consideration. Amren grinned.

Rhys let out a sound of exasperation. Placing a delicate kiss on Feyre’s cheek, he simply said, “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

Feyre drew back. “Are you calling me dumb, Rhysand?”

“No! I would never!”

As the couple bickered lovingly, Azriel drifted over to Elain. He knelt, plucking a small white daisy from the ground. He held it out to her in silent offering, and she beamed. Instead of keeping it, however, Elain rocked onto her tiptoes and reached up to tuck the flower behind his ear.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

Azriel’s lips parted as if he were about to say something, but then he clenched his jaw shut as he reconsidered. He took a step backwards. “Where’s Cassian?” He wondered.

Elain ducked her head, peeking through her golden eyelashes at Az with a mischievous smile dimpling her cheeks. “The library,” she answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so unbelievably sorry about how long it took me to update this. As always, feedback is welcome. (Warning: there is some cussing.)

It was the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, and Lucien found himself sandwiched between Feyre and Elain in a booth at the Three Broomsticks. The two sisters talked across him -- something about a charm that makes plants grow -- while Lucien nursed his second butterbeer, wondering why the hell he even agreed to come.

“Right, Lucien?” Elain’s dainty voice caught his attention, bringing him out of the shadows of his own mind. Lucien glanced over at the girl to his left, taking in the amused curve of her red lips, the deep brown of her steady gaze. Her golden hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, and his stomach lurched. _Gods, I want to run my fingers through her hair, I want to --_

Lucien quickly blinked away this train of thought and took a hurried swig of butterbeer. The beverage sloshed down his chin and onto his robes, provoking a muttered string of curse words. Elain snatched up some napkins and began pressing them against his collar. Clenching his jaw, Lucien prayed no one noticed the heat that rose to his cheeks as Elain patted at his chest. Just the tiniest bit of contact with this girl and Lucien felt like he was in freefall.

Feyre coughed, barely managing to hide her grin. Her eyes seemed to taunt Lucien as she waved her wand, casting a silent cleaning charm that made the whole mess disappear in seconds. This solicited a fiery glare from Lucien, and a small, “Oh,” from Elain as she withdrew her hands.

“Anyhow,” Feyre continued, as if there had been no interruptions, “I was thinking maybe you, Lucien, could assist Elain in her efforts to restore the old gamekeeper’s pumpkin patch to its former glory.”

“And _I_ was just saying,” Elain interjected with an eye roll directed at her sister, “That you have no interest in growing enchanted vegetables, nor do you have any obligation to help me.”

There was a lull in the conversation, both of the Archerons twisting to look at Lucien expectantly. “I dunno, um…” He trailed off uncertainly, torn between being severely unenthusiastic about pumpkins and wanting nothing more than an excuse to hang out with Elain. She tilted her head a fraction of an inch, curiosity pinching her brows, and without Lucien’s consent the words flew out of his mouth. “I would love to grow pumpkins with you! Pumpkins are great!”

 _Pumpkins are great_? Lucien wanted to slam his head against the table. And why did he have to say it with so much excitement? He sounded way too eager about gardening.

But Elain didn’t appear to notice the faked ardor; she beamed so wide her nose crinkled and her eyes were almost shut. And if Lucien could just get closer, so he could count the faint freckles that dotted her cheeks…

“...hoping to start sooner, but we can always use an herbivicus charm so they’re ready in time for Halloween,” Elain was saying.

Lucien missed the entire first half of the statement. He scrambled to quickly say, “Yeah, of course, sounds great.”

“Great,” Elain repeated.

_Her smile is so bright, it’s like the fucking sun. I’m going blind I’m going blind I’m --_

*** 

A couple shops away, Nesta sighed, her breath briefly fogging the window of Honeydukes. “Remind me again why you need so many Chocolate Cauldrons?” She said.

Amren scowled from behind the impressive heap of candies that threatened to spill out of her arms. “‘Cuz it’s chocolate and Firewhisky and I haven’t had any in three months.” Amren paused to peer around the stack of chocolates. “ _Three months_ ,” she emphasized.

Without a trace of emotion, Nesta deadpanned, “You have a problem, Amren.”

“I know,” Amren huffed, balancing one last Cauldron on top of the teetering pyramid.

Ambrosius Flume laughed a wholehearted, full-bellied laugh when Amren dumped her hoard on the counter. “Always a loyal customer, my small friend,” he commented as he rung up the purchases. He accepted Amren’s handful of Galleons, and with a wink, he tossed a few Sugar Quills on the pile as well. “On the house,” he whispered.

Exiting the shop, Nesta observed, “You won’t have any money left by Christmas.” A gust of wind greeted them as they stepped onto the cobbled street, a reminder of the winter that would soon arrive, despite the harsh sun currently beating down.

With a smirk, Amren said, “That, dear Nesta, is when I’ll start demanding all those Sickles you owe me from bets you lost.”

“I refuse to pay for your addiction,” Nesta said flatly.

Heavy footfalls rang out against the stone, and Nesta froze, sensing who was approaching without having to see his face or hear his voice. “What is it?” Amren murmured, scrutinizing her friend with concern.

“Nesta! Amren!” Cassian shouted, covering the distance between them in mere seconds. The duo turned towards the hulking shadow behind them. Cassian’s eyes shot to Nesta first, as they always did, taking inventory. To Amren, he asked, “Where’s Feyre?”

“How should I know?” Amren quipped.

“Why?” Nesta demanded. “What’s wrong?”

Cassian threaded his fingers in his dark hair with frustration. “It’s Rhys. He and Tamlin --”

“I’ll find Feyre,” Amren interrupted, “You two go ahead. Try to stop them from killing each other.”

Nodding, Cassian seized Nesta’s hand and began dragging her in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. He kept urging her to go faster, his long legs easily outrunning her, and Nesta was gasping for breath by the time they reached the Shack. She stopped to rest her hands on her knees while Cassian went ahead to disable to the Whomping Willow.

“Gods, I’m out of shape,” Nesta panted, mostly to herself.

Cassian glanced at her. “I could always train you,” he suggested.

With a withering glare, Nesta said, “Not in this lifetime, you won’t. I am not one of those Quidditch-playing _apes_ \--”

“Are you done?” Cassian interjected, eyebrows raised, unimpressed by Nesta’s insults.

“Not nearly,” Nesta shot back, straightening and slipping into the passage beneath the tree. Cassian ducked in after her, hunching over himself so as not to hit his head on the low ceiling.

The sound of Tamlin’s enraged roar rattled the windows of the dingy house. A loud thud followed, and Cassian prodded Nesta between her shoulder blades to make her speed up. For once, she complied, and the duo scrambled up the rickety staircase to find the source of the commotion.

Rhysand was picking himself up off the floor, his nose clearly broken. He spat out a mouthful of blood and snarled at Tamlin with red teeth. “I’m going to kill you,” he hissed.

“Then do it,” Tamlin growled, shaking matted blond hair out of his face and pushing his shirtsleeves further up his golden forearms. Rhysand lunged, arms latching around Tamlin’s waist as he threw all of his weight into the attack. They both crashed to the ground, dust clouding the air upon impact.

Cassian crossed the room in two strides, wrenching Rhysand off of Tamlin. Nesta whipped out her wand and thrust it into Tamlin’s face, her eyes cutting to Rhys as she seethed, “You _idiots_. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t think they were,” Cassian grunted, arms straining to keep the struggling Rhys from breaking free.

With an icy gaze, Nesta commanded in a low voice, “Explain yourselves.”

“That bastard,” Rhysand spat, “Insinuated that Feyre--”

Tamlin snorted. “I was just stating facts--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nesta snapped, the tip of her wand digging into Tamlin’s cheek.

“Why should I?” Tamlin demanded. “Your sister’s a slut who can’t keep a boyfriend without cheating on him!”

Rhys let out a bellow like a wounded animal, and Cassian swore. “Where the hell is Azriel?” He wondered, more to himself than anyone else. Both Az and Mor had been MIA since breakfast; no one knew where they had wandered off to.

“You know damn well that it’s _your_ fault Feyre walked away,” Nesta shouted, “She was suffering in that relationship and you didn’t do _shit_ to help her! _Of course_ she turned to Rhys; what else was she supposed to do?”

“She didn’t have to fuck him,” Tamlin said, contempt dripping from his words.

“And yet I did,” Feyre’s voice rang out loud and clear, everyone’s attention pivoting to where she stood in the doorway. “I fucked Rhys. On multiple occasions. Get over yourself, Tamlin. I didn’t _cheat_ on you -- you _broke up_ with me.”

Feyre swept into the room, robes billowing, her gaze fierce and determined. Behind her followed Amren and Elain, both of whom looked absolutely murderous. In the shadows of the corridor lurked Lucien, his golden eye glinting. He had lost the eye as a child, and the metal replacement had been an enchanted gift from Tamlin. Tamlin, whom Lucien had believed to be his best friend. Tamlin, whom Lucien had trusted only to be betrayed.

Tamlin, who was now glowering in Lucien’s direction. “Fraternizing with the enemy, Vanserra?”

Lucien shrunk back even further. “He’s not fraternizing with anyone,” Elain defended, crossing her arms.

“Oh, Elain. Sweet Elain,” Tamlin mocked, “You’re no better than your whore sister, the way you play with Lucien and Azriel like they’re nothing more than dogs.”

Elain’s chin wobbled. “I don’t _play_ \--”

No one saw Nesta’s fist flying until it collided with Tamlin’s jaw. He stumbled, fumbling for his wand, but Nesta cried, “ _Expelliarmus_!” Tamlin’s wand flew into Nesta’s hand as she began rattling off jinxes. “ _Flipendo_! _Ebublio_! _Levicorpus_!” He collapsed; a bubble formed around his body; he began to levitate. “ _Liberacorpus_!” He crashed back down to the floor, the bubble popping.

Tamlin howled. “Bitch!”

“ _Stupefy_!” Nesta yelled, rendering Tamlin unconscious.

The room went still. The only audible noise was Nesta’s rough breathing. Cassian released Rhys, who immediately staggered to Feyre’s side, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Feyre’s stroked her boyfriend’s back comfortingly, still peering at her eldest sister with concern.

Cassian took a step towards Nesta, his hazel eyes gleaming with what could only be described as awe and adoration. He let out a little laugh. “Nes,” he started.

Nesta slid a cool glance toward Cassian. “Use a somnambulist charm to move him to the hospital wing. He shouldn’t be too injured, except for his ego,” Nesta said, very businesslike. “The professors are not to know of my involvement here. Understood?” She regarded each of the witnesses separately, making sure none of them intended to gossip, before stalking out of the room.


End file.
